CHAPTER FOUR.
THE WHITE LADY.
"The future is all dark, And the past a troubled sea, And Memory sits in the heart, Wailing where Hope should be."
Supper was ready in the hall at four o'clock, and Amphillis foundherself seated next below Agatha, the younger of Lady Foljambe'sdamsels. It was a feast-day, so that meat was served--a boar's head,stewed beef, minced mutton, squirrel, and hedgehog. The last dainty isnow restricted to gypsies, and no one eats our little russet friend ofthe bushy tail; but our forefathers indulged in both. There were alsoroast capons, a heron, and chickens dressed in various ways. NearAmphillis stood a dish of beef jelly, a chowet or liver-pie, a flampoyntor pork-pie, and a dish of sops in fennel. The sweets were Barlee andMon Amy, of which the first was rice cream, and the second a preparationof curds and cream.
Amphillis looked with considerable interest along the table, and at heropposite neighbours. Lady Foljambe she recognised at once; and besideher sat a younger lady whom she had not seen before. She applied to herneighbour for information.
"She?" said Agatha. "Oh, she's Mistress Margaret, my Lady'sdaughter-in-law; wife to Master Godfrey, that sits o' t' other side ofhis mother; and that's Master Matthew, o' this side. The priest'sFather Jordan--a fat old noodle as ever droned a psalm through his nose.Love you mirth and jollity?"
"I scarce know," said Amphillis, hesitatingly. "I have had so little."
Agatha's face was a sight to see.
"Good lack, but I never reckoned you should be a spoil-sport!" said she,licking her spoon as in duty bound before she plunged it in the jelly--apiece of etiquette in which young ladies at that date were carefullyinstructed. The idea of setting a separate spoon to help a dish had notdawned upon the mediaeval mind.
"I shall hate you, I can tell you, if you so are. Things here be likegoing to a funeral all day long--never a bit of music nor dancing, noraught that is jolly. Mistress Margaret might be eighty, so sad andsober is she; and as for my Lady and Mistress Perrote, they are just apair of old jog-trots fit to run together in a quirle [the open car thenused by ladies, something like a waggonette]. Master Godfrey's all forarms and fighting, so he's no better. Master Matthew's best of the lot,but bad's the best when you've a-done. And he hasn't much chanceneither, for if he's seen laughing a bit with one of us, my Lady'sa-down on him as if he'd broke all the Ten Commandments, and whisks himoff ere you can say Jack Robinson; and if she whip you not, you maythank the saints or your stars, which you have a mind. Oh, 'tis a jollyhouse you've come to, that I can tell you! I hoped you'd a bit more funin you than Clarice--she wasn't a scrap of good. But I'm afraid you'reno better."
"I don't know, really," said Amphillis, feeling rather bewildered byAgatha's reckless rattle, and remembering the injunction not to make afriend of her. "I suppose I have come here to do my duty; but I knownot yet what it shall be."
"I detest doing my duty!" said Agatha, energetically.
"That's a pity, isn't it?" was the reply.
Agatha laughed.
"Come, you can give a quip-word," said she. "Clarice was just a lump ofwood, that you could batter nought into,--might as well sit next a post.Marabel has some brains, but they're so far in, there's no fetching 'emforth. I declare I shall do somewhat one o' these days that shall shockall the neighbourhood, only to make a diversion."
"I don't think I would," responded Amphillis. "You might find it ranthe wrong way."
"You'll do," said Agatha, laughing. "You are not jolly, but you're nextbest to it."
"Whose is that empty place on the form?" asked Amphillis, lookingacross.
"Oh, that's Master Norman's--Sir Godfrey's squire--he's away with him."
And Agatha, without any apparent reason, became suddenly silent.
When supper was over, the girls were called to spin, which they did inthe large hall, sitting round the fire with the two ladies and Perrote.Amphillis, as a newcomer, was excused for that evening; and she satstudying her neighbours and surroundings till Mistress Perrotepronounced it bed-time. Then each girl rose and put by her spindle;courtesied to the ladies, and wished them each "Good-even," receiving asimilar greeting; and the three filed out of the inner door afterPerrote, each possessing herself of a lighted candle as she passed awindow where they stood. At the solar landing they parted, Perrote andAmphillis turning aside to their own tower, Marabel and Agatha going onto the upper floor. [The solar was an intermediate storey, resemblingthe French _entresol_.] Amphillis found, as she expected, that she wasto share the large blue bed and the yellow griffins with Perrote. Thelatter proved a very silent bedfellow. Beyond showing Amphillis whereshe was to place her various possessions, she said nothing at all; andas soon as she had done this, she left the room, and did not reappearfor an hour or more. As Amphillis lay on her pillow, she heard anindistinct sound of voices in an adjoining room, and once or twice, asshe fancied, a key turned in the lock. At length the voices grewfainter, the hoot of the white owl as he flew past the turret windowscarcely roused her, and Amphillis was asleep--so sound asleep, thatwhen Perrote lay down by her side, she never made the discovery.
The next morning dawned on a beautiful summer day. Perrote roused heryoung companion about four o'clock, with a reminder that if she werelate it would produce a bad impression upon Lady Foljambe. When theywere dressed, Perrote repeated the Rosary, Amphillis making theresponses, and they went down to the hall.
Breakfast was at this time a luxury not indulged in by every one, and itwas not served before seven o'clock. Lady Foljambe patronised it. Atthat hour it was accordingly spread in the hall, and consisted ofpowdered beef, boiled beef, brawn, a jug of ale, another of wine, and athird of milk. The milk was a condescension to a personal weakness ofPerrote; everybody else drank wine or ale.
Amphillis was wondering very much, in the private recesses of her mind,how it was that no lady appeared whom she could suppose to be her ownparticular mistress; and had she not received such strict charges on thesubject, she would certainly have asked the question. As it was, shekept silence; but she was gratified when, after breakfast, having beenbidden to follow Perrote, that worthy woman paused to say, as theyfollowed the passage which led to their own turret--
"Now, Amphillis Neville, you shall see your Lady."
She stopped before the locked and barred door opposite to their own,unfastened it, and led Amphillis into the carefully-guarded chamber.
The barred room proved to be an exceedingly pleasant one, except that itwas darker than the other, for it looked into the inner garden, andtherefore much less sun ever entered it. A heavy curtain of blackworsted, whereon were depicted golden vines and recumbent lions,stretched across the room, shutting off that end which formed thebedchamber. Within its shelter stood a bed of green silk wrought withgolden serpents and roses; a small walnut-wood cabinet against the wall;two large chests; a chair of carved walnut-wood, upholstered in yellowsatin; a mirror set in silver; and two very unusual pieces of furniture,which in those days they termed folding-chairs, but which we should calla shut-up washstand and dressing-table. The former held an ewer andbasin of silver-gilt, much grander articles than Amphillis had everseen, except in the goldsmith's shop. In front of the curtain was abench with green silk cushions, and two small tables, on one of whichlay some needlework; and by it, in another yellow satin chair, sat thesolitary inhabitant of the chamber, a lady who appeared to be aboutsixty years of age. She was dressed in widow's mourning, and in 1372that meant pure snowy white, with chin and forehead so covered by barband wimple that only the eyes, nose, and mouth were left visible. Thislady's face was almost as white as her robes. Even her lips seemedcolourless; and the fixed, weary, hopeless expression was only broken bytwo dark, brilliant, sunken eyes, in which lay a whole volume of unreadhistory--eyes that looked as if they could flash with fury, or moistenwith pity, or grow soft and tender with love; eyes that had done allthese, long, long ago! so long ago, that they had forgotten how to doit. Sad, tired, sorrow
ful eyes--eyes out of which all expectation haddeparted; which had nothing left to fear, only because they had nothingleft to hope. They were turned now upon Amphillis.
"Your Grace's new chamber-dame," said Mistress Perrote, "in the room ofClarice. Her name is Amphillis Neville."
The faintest shadow of interest passed over the sorrowful eyes.
"Go near," said Perrote to Amphillis, "and kiss her Grace's hand."
Amphillis did as she was told. The lady, after offering her hand forthe kiss, turned it and gently lifted the girl's face.
"Dost thou serve God?" she said, in a voice which matched her eyes.
"I hope so, Dame," replied Amphillis.
"I hope nothing," said the mysterious lady. "It is eight years since Iknew what hope was. I have hoped in my time as much as ever woman did.But God took away from me one boon after another, till now He hath leftme desolate. Be thankful, maid, that thou canst yet hope."
She dropped her hand, and went back to her work with a weary sigh.
"Dame," said Perrote, "your Grace wot that her Ladyship desires not thatyou talk in such strain to the damsels."
The white face changed as Amphillis had thought it could not change, andthe sunken eyes shot forth fire.
"Her Ladyship!" said the widow. "Who is Avena Foljambe, that shelooketh to queen it over Marguerite of Flanders? They took my lord, andI lived through it. They took my daughter, and I bare it. They took myson, my firstborn, and I was silent, though it brake my heart. But bymy troth and faith, they shall not still my soul, nor lay bonds upon mytongue when I choose to speak. Avena Foljambe! the kinswoman of awretched traitor, that met the fate he deserved--why, hath she ten dropsof good blood in her veins? And she looks to lord it over a daughter ofCharlemagne, that hath borne sceptre ere she carried spindle!"
Mistress Perrote's calm even voice checked the flow of angry words.
"Dame, your Grace speaks very sooth [truth]. Yet I beseech you rememberthat my Lady doth present [represent] an higher than herself--the King'sGrace and no lesser."
The lady in white rose to her feet.
"What mean you, woman? King Edward of Windsor may be your master andhers, but he is not mine! I owe him no allegiance, nor I never swareany."
"Your son hath sworn it, Dame."
The eyes blazed out again.
"My son is a hound!--a craven cur, that licks the hand that lashedhim!--a poor court fool that thinks it joy enough to carry his bauble,and marvel at his motley coat and his silvered buttons! That he shouldbe my son,--and _his_!"
The voice changed so suddenly, that Amphillis could scarcely believe itto be the same. All the passionate fury died out of it, and insteadcame a low soft tone of unutterable pain, loneliness, and regret. Thespeaker dropped down into her chair, and laying her arm upon the littletable, hid her face upon it.
"My poor Lady!" said Perrote in tender accents--more tender thanAmphillis had imagined she could use.
The lady in white lifted her head.
"I was not so weak once," she said. "There was a time when man said Ihad the courage of a man and the heart of a lion. Maiden, never man satan horse better than I, and no warrior ever fought that could more ablyhandle sword. I have mustered armies to the battle ere now; I havepersonally conducted sieges, I have headed sallies on the camp of theKing of France. Am I meek pigeon to be kept in a dovecote? Look aroundthee! This is my cage. Ha! the perches are fine wood, sayest thou? theseed is good, and the water is clean! I deny it not. I say only, it isa cage, and I am a royal eagle, that was never made to sit on a perchand coo! The blood of an hundred kings is thrilling all along my veins,and must I be silent? The blood of the sovereigns of France, thekingdom of kingdoms,--of the sea-kings of Denmark, of the ancient kingsof Burgundy, and of the Lombards of the Iron Crown--it is with this mineheart is throbbing, and man saith, `Be still!' How can I be still,unless I were still in death? And man reckoneth I shall be a-paid formy lost sword with a needle, and for my broken sceptre he offereth me abodkin!"
With a sudden gesture she brushed all the implements for needlework fromthe little table to the floor.
"There! gather them up, which of you list. I lack no such babe's gear.If I were but now on my Feraunt, with my visor down, clad in armour, asI was when I rode forth of Hennebon while the French were busied withthe assault on the further side of the town,--forth I came with my threehundred horse, and we fired the enemy's camp--ah, but we made a goodlyblaze that day! I reckon the villages saw it for ten miles around ormore."
"But your Grace remembereth, we won not back into the town at after,"quietly suggested Perrote.
"Well, what so? Went we not to Brest, and there gathered six hundredmen, and when we appeared again before Hennebon, the trumpets sounded,and the gates were flung open, and we entered in triumph? Thy memorywaxeth weak, old woman! I must refresh it from mine own."
"Please it, your good Grace, I am nigh ten years younger than yourself."
"Then shouldest thou be the more 'shamed to have so much worser amemory. Why, hast forgot all those weeks at Hennebon, that we awaitedthe coming of the English fleet? Dost not remember how I went down tothe Council with thyself at mine heels, and the child in mine arms, topray the captains not to yield up the town to the French, and the litherloons would not hear me a word? And then at the last minute, when thegates were opened, and the French marching up to take possession,mindest thou not how I ran to yon window that giveth toward the sea, andthere at last, at last! the English fleet was seen, making straight sailfor us. Then flung I open the contrary casement toward the street, andmyself shouted to the people to shut the gates, and man the ramparts,and cry, `No surrender!' Ah, it was a day, that! Had there been buttime, I'd never have shouted--I'd have been down myself, and slammedthat gate on the King of France's nose! The pity of it that I had nowings! And did I not meet the English Lords and kiss them every one[Note 1], and hang their chambers with the richest arras in my coffers?And the very next day, Sir Walter Mauny made a sally, and destroyed theFrench battering-ram, and away fled the French King with ours inpursuit. Ha, that was a jolly sight to see! Old Perrote, hast thouforgot it all?"
We are accustomed in the present day to speak of the deliverer ofHennebon as Sir Walter Manny. That his name ought really to be speltand sounded Mauny, is evidenced by a contemporary entry which speaks ofhis daughter as the Lady of Maweny.
Old Perrote had listened quietly, while her mistress poured forth thesereminiscences in rapid words. When the long waiting for the Englishfleet was mentioned, a kind of shudder passed over her, as if herrecollection of that time were painful and distinct enough; butotherwise she stood motionless until the concluding question. Then sheanswered--
"Ay, Dame--no, I would say: I mind it well."
"Thou shouldest! Then quote not Avena Foljambe to me. I care not abrass nail for Avena Foljambe. Hand me yonder weary gear. It is betterthan counting one's fingers, maybe."
Amphillis stooped and gathered up the scattered broidery, glancing atPerrote to see if she were doing right. As she approached her mistressto offer them, Perrote whispered, hurriedly, "On the knee, child! on theknee!" and Amphillis, blushing for her mistake, dropped on one knee.She was hoping that the lady would not be angry--that she could beseverely so, there could be no doubt--and she was much relieved to seeher laugh.
"Thou foolish old woman!" she said to Perrote, as she took her workback. Then addressing Amphillis, she added,--"Seest thou, my maid, manhath poured away the sparkling wine out of reach of my thirsty lips; andthis silly old Perrote reckons it of mighty moment that the empty cup beleft to shine on the buffet. What matters it if the caged eagle havehis perch gilded or no? He would a thousand times liefer sit of a barerock in the sun than of a perch made of gold, and set with emeralds. Soman granteth me the gilded perch, to serve me on the knee like a queen,and he setteth it with emeralds, to call me Duchess in lieu of Countess,and he reckoneth that shall a-pay the caged eagle for her lost liberty,and
her quenched sunlight, and the grand bare rock on the mountain tops.It were good enough for the dove to sit on the pigeon-house, and preenher feathers, and coo, and take decorous little flights between thedovecote and the ground whereon her corn lieth. She cares for no more.The bare rock would frighten her, and the sun would dazzle her eyes. Soman bindeth the eagle by a bond long enough for the dove, and quoth he,`Be patient!' I am not patient. I am not a silly dove, that I shouldbe so. Chide me not, old woman, to tug at my bond. I am an eagle."
"Ah, well, Dame!" said Perrote, with a sigh. "The will of God mustneeds be done."
"I marvel if man's will be alway God's, in sooth. Folks say, whateverhappeth, `God's will be done.' Is everything His will?--the evil thingsno less than the good? Is it God's will when man speaketh a lie, orslayeth his fellow, or robbeth a benighted traveller of all his having?Crack me that nut, Perrote."
"Truly, Dame, I am no priest, to solve such matters."
"Then leave thou to chatter glibly anentis God's will. What wist anyman thereabout?"
Perrote was silent.
"Open the window!" said the Countess, suddenly. "I am dying for lack offresh air."
Lifting her hand to her head, she hastily tore off the barb and wimple,with little respect to the pins which fastened them, and with the resultof a long rent in the former.
"That's for one of you to amend," she said, with a short laugh. "Yeshould be thankful to have somewhat to do provided for you. Ay me!"
The words were uttered in a low long moan.
Perrote made no reply to the petulant words and action. An expressionof tender pity crossed her face, as she stooped and lifted the tornbarb, and examined the rent, with as much apparent calmness as if it hadbeen damaged in the washing. There was evidently more in her than shesuffered to come forth.
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Note 1. This action, in the estimation of the time, was merelyequivalent to a cordial shaking of hands between the Countess and herdeliverers.